


Pick Up Here

by kres



Series: Find the River [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Consent Issues, M/M, and not because of stupid non-reasons, because of plot, but then they go away, just trust me, saying more would be spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-06-04
Updated: 2005-06-04
Packaged: 2017-12-20 16:09:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/889233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kres/pseuds/kres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>me, my thoughs are flower strewn...</p><p>[originally posted at kres.livejournal.com]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pick Up Here

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks and bows to [](http://tafkarfanfic.livejournal.com/profile)[**tafkarfanfic**](http://tafkarfanfic.livejournal.com/) and [](http://troyswann.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://troyswann.livejournal.com/)**troyswann** for the beta. *bows, sweeping floor with feather in hat*
> 
> Thoughts, comments and ripe fruit appreciated.

  
_me, my thoughs are flower strewn,_   
_ocean storm, bayberry moon_   


 

The church bell rang, once, twice, three times. The sound of it, full, rich and heavy, echoed across the square, across the city, across the sky. A flock of pigeons flushed upwards, circled the church tower and settled back on the windows and galleries.

The hot afternoon air was still vibrating with sound when Daniel turned and stepped from the balcony into his sun-streaked apartment. White and leather and the orange glow, bare feet on the warm wood, and the couch looked quite comfortable from where he was standing. He was tired today, still had some more work to do, but he could use a little nap. He stretched on the couch, with his feet propped up, closed his eyes and drifted.

A knock on the door jerked him awake. He blinked. There was no one he could possibly expect, not on an afternoon like this, and certainly not at this hour. His books, his papers, his experiments were all he had, and he shared that with no one. He went to open the door.

The man outside looked friendly, in a known-him-long-ago kind of way, but Daniel couldn't remember exactly where they had met, and if. He was a little taller than Daniel. Hands in pockets, he wore a white cotton shirt and khaki pants. Sandals, bare feet, and a metal chain disappearing under the half-open collar of the shirt. Comfortable, casual. A tourist, probably. He wore sunglasses. It had been a sunny day.

“Hi,” he said. He didn't smile as much as grimaced. “Can I come in?”

Daniel frowned. “I'm sorry, but...” It sounded lame, now that he thought about it, but the man intercepted him.

“No, you don't know me. Can I come in anyway? Thanks.”

The man brushed by him in the doorway, and Daniel caught a whiff of a good cologne. A nice-smelling man on this hot day. He must have just arrived. Got off the plane, drove straight here. Walked up the steps. Left footprints in the corridor, dust swirling in the patch of light from the skylights, dust settling down. Someone should clean up the floors, Daniel thought. Dust gathers quickly around here. He closed the door.

The man stood in the middle of the apartment, looking around with no curiosity. He'd taken off his sunglasses, put them in his shirt pocket.

“Everything back in place,” Daniel heard him murmur under his breath. “Not even a single shard. Damn, they're good.”

“Um,” Daniel said, and the man turned around. He was quite handsome, Daniel noticed, if a little ragged and worn. His hair was greying. He must be older than me, Daniel thought, at least ten years, maybe more, and there are drafts in my apartment, he might not like it if he stays the night.

And then he remembered politeness. He'd always been polite to people he let into his apartment. He cleared his throat. “Do you want something to drink?” he asked.

The man looked at him for a moment, and Daniel noticed something flicker behind his eyes; something warm, something familiar, but it was gone before Daniel could decide what it was.

“No,” the man answered quietly. He shrugged. “You don't have anything decent anyway.”

Daniel wanted to protest, but he remembered that indeed there was nothing worth mentioning in his fridge nor in his liquor cabinet. He was supposed to get groceries earlier that day. He must have been reading too long. That book on--

“I'm Jack,” the man said suddenly, and Daniel looked at him.

“Oh. _Oh._ ” He walked to the man and extended his arm. “I'm Daniel.”

The man reached out slowly, took Daniel's hand, shook it. His grip was firm, his skin dry, and his fingers calloused. “I know,” he said. He didn't say anything else. He let Daniel go and put his hand back in his pocket.

Daniel stood in the middle of his living room, unsure what to do next. He let this... Jack into his apartment for no reason at all, he was beginning to notice that just now, and he knew he wasn't very good at small talk. A tourist, he thought again, so there was probably something he came here to see. The view on the square was very interesting from Daniel's window, and the was supposed to be a jazz concert today, he could hear the sound of equipment being moved, someone said “One, two, three...”, so maybe this Jack came in here to listen. Daniel used to do that himself, back in Cairo, karkade with ice in the glass, sand on the roof, and the starless night above his head – so it seemed logical, it seemed like a right thing for this Jack to do.

But Jack didn't go to the balcony, didn't look down at the square. The orange light was turning darker with each passing minute, and it was so beautiful on the side of Jack's face, in the corner of Jack's eye.

“Well, here goes nothing,” Jack finally said, flatly, and pulled his hands out of his pockets. “Hope you're right, folks,” he added to no one in particular, and then came closer to Daniel, took his face in his hands and kissed him.

Daniel jerked away, on instinct, but Jack held him, his fingers boring into Daniel's neck. A take-no-prisoners kiss, too rough and too angular, as Jack pressed forward, forced Daniel's mouth open with his tongue. He tasted like something sweet, and something vaguely nauseating, and Daniel couldn't breathe, he thought he'd suffocate if it lasted even a second longer, and outside someone said “One, two, three” and someone else said “Yeah” and then Jack was pulling away, taking a deep breath, and letting it out, a warm puff of air on Daniel's face.

“There,” he said, a humorless smile stretching his lips. “You recognize me now?”

Daniel took a step back, and raised his hand to his face. He wanted to wipe his mouth, he realized, yes, that's what he ought to do, that's what you did when someone... when someone...

But then Jack tilted his head, and Daniel hesitated, because suddenly it seemed wrong, wiping his face just like that, so Daniel let his hand drop, and licked his lips instead.

“I'm not gay,” he said slowly. He stepped back some more, till the backs of his knees hit the couch. He sat down.

Which was a mistake, because he had nowhere to go now. He realized that when Jack followed him and knelt on the floor, insinuating himself between Daniel's legs, and started to open Daniel's pants.

“No,” Daniel gasped. He fumbled with the buttons, bumped his fingers against Jack's. “No, I don't want this.” He reached to take Jack's wrists and push him away.

And then something happened, Daniel wasn't sure what exactly, but the next second his hands were over his head, and then he was flipped over, and ended up face-down on the couch, his mouth full of pillow, his arms twisted at a painful angle, and with a weight settling across his body; heavy, living flesh, and the pressure of it made breathing impossible, made crying out impossible.

No, he thought, panicking, and then, I let him in, he thought. I let him in.

“Left side okay”, said the voice from the outside.

“I don't like it either,” said Jack, his voice low and hoarse, his mouth in Daniel's ear, his breath hot and moist on Daniel's neck. “But I've run out of options, Daniel. And I won't let you die.”

I'm not dying, Daniel thought, and then corrected himself. I might as well be dead, because what you're about to do to me...

But what followed was as surprising to Daniel as the assault had been. His t-shirt was tugged up, the weight on his body shifted, the pressure changed, and then came a warm and wet touch between his shoulder blades.

Kissing, he realized. This man is kissing me.

The kisses moved lower, and Daniel turned his head to the side, gasped in some air, arched a little. The touch tickled, but in a good way, and if the man was about to rape him, why the hell did he start so gently? Daniel moved his arms an inch, and felt the grip on them loosen. He didn't dare move them more, though, he was afraid Jack might catch them again and twist them and that would hurt, and when the hell had he gotten so mellow?, he could shoot a Jaffa between the eyes from a hundred feet!, and an experimental riff sounded from the outside, vibrated through Daniel's head, and someone said “Right side okay”, and the sun was a bright, painful orange in his eyes, so he closed them, and tried to think of nothing at all.

“Oh yes, like this,” Jack said from above him, and Daniel heard him laugh softly. A short, raspy laugh. He loved a laugh like this, he realized. He loved this laugh. “Won't be so bad,” Jack promised, and the touch of lips came back, lower, at the base of Daniel's spine. “Never been.”

And then there were Jack's hands, slipping under Daniel's hips, and Daniel had to help, he lifted himself a little, and then he untangled and straightened his arms, and Jack didn't catch them, because of course he wouldn't, and Daniel reached to grasp the arm of the couch when Jack pulled his pants off.

Bare feet, no underwear, he never wore any when Jack was around, hot, lazy weekends when they weren't thinking, they weren't running, they weren't killing anyone, and Jack laughed again, and swatted his bare ass, and Daniel smiled, eyes closed – this was familiar; he knew this.

“Jack,” he said softly. “Jack.”

And Jack went very still and very quiet across Daniel's back.

Daniel blinked slowly, and opened his eyes.

The sun had drifted low, and it hovered just over the brim of the balcony's railing, barely above the rooftops of the houses on the other side of the square. Small wings, black against the glow of the sunset, fluttered outside the window.

It's so quiet, Daniel thought. The air is so quiet.

And then he thought: they should start playing already. The music should be playing by now.

Jack wasn't moving. His body was heavy on Daniel's back, and Daniel lay there quietly and let himself absorb the weight, the warmth of Jack's touch. Safe, he thought. I'm safe here.

And then Jack took a breath, a short, broken gasp in Daniel's ear, and said, “Yes, Daniel. It's me.” Then he moved, pressed his forehead to the back of Daniel's neck. “Gotta make you feel good now,” he whispered fiercely. “Gotta make you remember.” And then there was more shifting, and Jack's weight went away.

Daniel pressed his face back into the pillow, and closed his eyes. But I feel fine, he thought idly. I feel perfectly fine. The sun was leaking red under his eyelids.

There was a rustling of clothes, a thud of shoes being dropped onto the floor. And then Jack's weight came back, warm and heavy and naked, and hard, pressing against the back of Daniel's thighs. “When we're out of here,” Jack said. “I'm buying Carter dinner.” There was a short click from over Daniel's head, plastic on plastic, and Jack nudged his legs apart with his knee. “And you're buying her a new sunscreen.”

“Ow,” Daniel said, when a finger slipped and curled inside him, and, “Ow,” again, when another slipped in, slick but still a little too rough.

“Shh,” Jack whispered, and then twisted his fingers, and curled them again, and rubbed.

“Oh god,” Daniel said, his body coiling around the pleasure. “Oh god, oh yes, Jack.”

“Wait for it,” Jack told him. He pulled out his fingers, and then pressed his body between Daniel's thighs, and Daniel spread his legs, one knee slipping off the side of the seat. He found the floor with his foot, and grasped the arm of the couch a little tighter, braced, and then Jack was pressing in, sliding in with a groan, and a slow, pained releasing of air against Daniel's shoulder, and Daniel opened his mouth, and gasped in a breath, and the air was orange and thick, sweet-smelling and lilac and violet and sounds, and it was May, the window open, and Jack was fucking him on the couch and he was alive. He was alive.

~*~

  
_only just light years to go_   


“Do we... um... Do we do this often?”

They lay on their backs, Daniel on the couch and Jack on the floor. It was almost dark now, but the air coming through the open window was still warm. Outside, the concert was in full swing, the low sounds of the bass talking to the trumpet, and the trumpet answering, the guitar curling over them in a soft, jazzy caress.

“Not as often as I'd want to,” Jack said.

“Oh,” Daniel frowned, then went back to staring at the high ceiling.

They were both quiet for a moment, and then Jack said slowly, in that toneless voice, the one that Daniel was beginning to hate, “We work in the military, Daniel. It's not permitted.”

Daniel raised his head, looked down at Jack. “I'm a soldier?”

Jack sighed. His eyes were closed, his hands behind his head. One of his knees was bent, his soft cock lying on his thigh. Daniel found himself wanting to reach and caress Jack, but he was too far away.

“No, you're not,” Jack said levelly. “You're a scientist. I'm the soldier. Which means that... oh crap, why am I even explaining this to you!” Jack opened his eyes and sat up suddenly. “It didn't work, so we might as well start over!”

“I wouldn't mind that,” Daniel said, smiling, and Jack looked at him with a scowl.

Familiar, Daniel thought immediately, and yet I haven't seen this man before in my life.

Jack scowled at him some more, and then looked around, snatched his briefs from the coffee table, pulled them on. He was angry, and Daniel didn't really know why. Maybe this Jack liked being angry.

He'd liked being rough, too, but Daniel didn't mind. It had hurt, in the beginning, but it had also been good, and then it had been almost spectacular, so he wasn't complaining. Jack wasn't complaining either. He'd been just a little gloomy since.

“You could explain,” Daniel offerend after a moment. “I like listening to you.” And you're a good fuck, he thought, but couldn't bring himself to say it out loud.

“See?” Jack waved a hand at him. “You don't even sound like yourself.”

Daniel raised his eyebrows. “I don't?”

Jack hesitated. Then he groaned, screwed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his temples. “No, you don't. You don't listen to me. You never listen to me. You didn't listen to me this time either...”

Then Jack said something else, and Daniel watched his lips move, but no sound was coming out. Jack shook his head, said a few more angry, soundless words, looked up at Daniel and stopped.

Daniel waited.

“They did it again, didn't they,” Jack said after a moment. It was not a question.

Daniel kept his eyebrows raised, just in case.

“Oh, for crying out loud! I hate it when they do that.”

“Do what?” Daniel asked.

Jack didn't answer. He looked around instead, found his pants, pulled them on, got up. “I'll get some water,” he said, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Jack wasn't angry any more. He looked resigned now, Daniel realized. Like he'd run a hundred miles and found there was nothing beyond the finish line.

Daniel decided he preferred Jack angry. He'd have to do something about that, he thought. He lay on his back again, clasped his hands together on his chest, looked up at the ceiling. It shouldn't be difficult, he thought, irritating Jack, and he knew how to irritate Jack just enough, exactly enough that Jack would break, and there would be shouting and handwaving, and then Jack would push him and Daniel would push back and they'd push and pull and stumble, and Jack would still be angry, but then he'd laugh, and Daniel would laugh too, and then they'd fuck on Daniel's kitchen table, and it would be so good, so good--

And there was a dark spot near the overhead light, and Daniel squinted up at it, he could barely make it out in the dimness. Someone above him. Water. Must have been a recent affair; the spot looked quite fresh. He should have fixed this. He should have fixed this a long time ago. Maybe he never noticed.

“Here.” Jack came back from the kitchen, handed him a glass. Daniel took it, and then took a drink, and put the glass on his chest, clasped his hands around it. It was pleasantly cool against his overheated skin.

Jack sat down on the couch, moving Daniel's legs aside. He gulped down half of the water in one shot. Half-empty, Daniel thought idly, or is it half-full? He wanted to laugh, except it wasn't really that funny. His ass was still a little sore. He shifted on the seat, changed the pressure on his buttocks.

“Do I have a wife?” he asked, recalling something he wanted to say, before.

Jack looked at him sharply.

“You rememeber...” he said, and this time his voice was different, something of knives and guns behind it. “Daniel, I swear, if you're toying with me, I'm gonna rip you a new one, and even Carter won't be able to help you...”

“No.” Daniel looked at him, panicked. “No, I'm not. It's just that everything is so... so neat around here. I'm not that neat. I think.”

Jack studied his face for a moment. He wasn't smiling. He wore no expression at all.

“No, it's not because you have a wife,” he said slowly, carefully, as if measuring the possible extent of what he was permitted to say. “It's because you don't live here, Daniel. You never did.”

Daniel laughed. And then he laughed again, because the look on Jack's face was so serious, too serious after what they just did. Daniel was still naked, and Jack's khakis were still half-unbuttoned, Daniel could sit up and reach inside them if he wanted, and stroke Jack through his briefs, make him gasp and say that Oh god, Daniel, again, in the same voice Jack did when he came inside Daniel, less than an hour ago.

“You know I live here,” Daniel said. “You found me. You knocked on my door.”

“It's not your door,” Jack said. His eyes were dark now. Black steel. “And I won't convince you, not this time.” He waved a hand. “We've wasted enough of it as it is.”

Wasted, Daniel thought, frowning. Oh, well.

He put the glass on the floor, swung his legs over the edge of the couch, got up, and walked to the window, stepped out onto the balcony. Jack made no comment about his lack of clothes, and Daniel felt oddly disappointed that he didn't. He wasn't sure why.

On the square below him, there were lights, yellow and green and red, and the instruments and people were small from this height, he could take them between his fingers, measure their size between his forefinger and thumb. Small, insignificant. Beautiful, like the music they made.

They'd just finished a number, and the small crowd around the platform was applauding. The clapping sounded across the square, bounced off the buildings on the other side, scared off a few pigeons on its way and came back to Daniel in a clatter of echoes.

“You don't even know why you're here, do you,” Jack said quietly from behind him. “You do your research like a good little boy, never asking any questions, never asking them what for, never asking why, for god's sake!” He paused, as though unsure if Daniel could hear him. “It's like someone just amputated all your curiosity, and left this... this empty shell, this... Oh God, I hate this. And I hate that I can't tell you anything, because they'd censor me anyway, so there's no point.”

Daniel turned. Jack was still sitting on the couch, half-empty glass in his hand. He wasn't looking at Daniel. He was looking into the glass.

“We should go out for a beer tonight,” Daniel said. “I know this little pub over there, very nice atmosphere. And there's a waitress who likes me...”

Jack was shaking his head. “No, you don't. You don't know any pubs here, Daniel. There are no pubs here, not in a million miles.” He raised his eyes to look at Daniel's face, and then he raised the glass and saluted. “To non-existent pubs,” he said, and drank.

Daniel walked back from the balcony, closed the door behind him. “Or we could stay here. This afternoon has been really... nice.” He stood in front of Jack, and then he knelt. Jack let his legs fall open, let Daniel slip in between them.

“There are drafts in my bedroom,” Daniel said, reaching to open Jack's pants. “But I hope you don't mind.” He pulled Jack's cock free, stroked it a few times, and then bent and licked it from base to tip. Jack groaned softly.

“No, I don't mind, Daniel,” he whispered. His hand caressed the back of Daniel's neck, pressed Daniel's head gently down. Daniel opened his mouth, swallowed the head of Jack's cock, sucked a little. “I don't mind,” Jack repeated brokenly from above him. “I don't mind at all.”

Outside, the church bell rang, echoed across the emptying square. The pack of non-existent pigeons looked on lazily, perched safely on the non-existent windows and galleries. It was going to be a warm, quiet, night.

 

 

  
_Gdańsk, 22.05-04.06.2005_   



End file.
